


In the Half Light (the Sun Fell Down)

by humandevolution



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Erik narrates, Erik through Charles' eyes, M/M, or Charles through Erik's eyes, the first if you read them with mutations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7718176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humandevolution/pseuds/humandevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is the voice inside Charles' head.</p><p>"That seems to be all the explanation he will give, but Erik wants to prod. He wants to take that little crack he's just made and pry it wide open. He wants to make the space big enough for him to squeeze through, so he can see inside and stand inside with his own body. Erik wants to touch the ground on the inside, pick up the soil and watch as it falls through his fingers. He wants to know what sunshine there feels like on the back of his neck and just how deep there is to go. It's all Erik has wanted, ever since he met Charles. He wants to pull at the layers, peel them away one by one, knowing them like a researcher knows his subject. He wants an education in Charles Xavier, wants to know everything bad and good about the man and still want to know more, still want him anyway."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Half Light (the Sun Fell Down)

They're both sprawled over the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder in the center. Erik's resting his head on the top of the cushion and staring blankly at the ceiling, and Charles' head is tilted forward, as he stares at the fireplace with something close to reverence on his face. The coffee table three feet from them is littered with open bottles and one each, a shot glass, tumbler, and coupe. The jigger lays on the floor beside a chipped saucer, and a loan lime sits across the carpet looking worse for wear, where Charles accidentally knocked them. It's after midnight, and moonlight is streaming into the room from their left, the floor to ceiling windows casting the room in half light, half in a warm orange from the fire and half in a cool blue from the night sky.

"I wonder," Erik murmurs, head rolling to look at Charles - or, rather, the back of his head.

Charles grunts softly, turning so his blue eyes are visible, wide and curious - with the slightest hint of wariness - and he licks his lips, making the red flesh shine with saliva. Erik stares at the other's lips for a moment, feeling a little hazy, before snapping back to attention, his eyes moving up to meet with the eyes of his companion.

"Why aren't you dating anyone?" he asks, feeling suddenly as if he is far away from his body, like he's in a rubber band sling shot, being pulled back before being let go. His breathing picks up a bit with his pulse, and he places his head back on the cushion when his diaphragm gives him a little trouble.

He receives no response at first and almost forgets he's even asked the question. Come to think of it: _Has_ he asked this question already? He can't remember, and so he just listens, feeling as though his lungs have grown to the size of the room they're sitting in, expanding and contracting with large gulps of air.

"Do you require the truth, or will a simple 'tale suffice?" Charles asks, but all Erik hears is, _Will you remember this in the morning?_ He knows Charles all too well.

Erik sighs, moving to sit up, probably looking more like a turtle on his back than a man in the too long first few moments of the attempt, until his muscles finally rolls to a stop a stop, his pelvis upright once more. He much prefers slouching, but Charles is so much further from where he was than where he is now. And that's...well...that's the point, isn't it?

"I remember everything you tell me, Charles," he promises, and, though his eyes feel too dry to actually be moving in their sockets, he looks over to Charles, who has himself moved once more. Charles, _beautiful Charles_ , is turned toward him on the couch, one leg folded under him, as he sits more to the front of the seat cushion than against the back. _So rigid._ And the fire glows in the reflection of his eyes.

Charles hums softly, thoughtfully, before he says, "I...uh...we, Xaviers...we mate for life, so to speak."

Erik nods, and Charles continues, "There's...um...there's no one else. There hasn't been since...and there never will be."

He lets out a huge sigh through his nose, and Erik imagines him as a dragon, breathing fire through his nostrils. _Though, dragons breathe fire through their mouths, don't they?_ But it doesn't matter because Charles would make a beautiful dragon. His eyes, _so blue_ , would be much bigger, so everyone could see. And he would have the most beautiful scales - that would probably be iridescent. And he would be a kind dragon. _The kindest._

And Erik realizes he's not totally there for a moment before phasing back in with a dopey sort of smile on his face.

"You would make an absolutely gorgeous dragon, Charles," he tells the other man, who responds with a confused smile.

"Yeah?"

"I could...be a knight, but I don't think I could ever slay you, Charles. You would...you would stop me," he continues, and at Charles' hardened features he stops suddenly, something flashing in his mind like a blaring siren. And he has to ask, "Why did you cut your hair?"

His brows furrow so low he can see wisps of hair at the top of his vision, and his teeth grind together painfully.

Charles is beautiful any way, he knows, but one day all of those luscious brown waves were gone with nothing but a shrug as explanation from Charles himself. The hair is growing back now ( _attractively_ ), but Erik always wonders, when he remembers to.

"You loved my hair," Charles confesses without much preamble, "and I love you."

That seems to be all the explanation he will give, but Erik wants to prod. He wants to take that little crack he's just made and pry it wide open. He wants to make the space big enough for him to squeeze through, so he can see inside and stand inside with his own body. Erik wants to touch the ground on the inside, pick up the soil and watch as it falls through his fingers. He wants to know what sunshine feels like on the back of his neck and just how deep there is to go. It's all Erik has wanted, ever since he met Charles. He wants to pull at the layers, peel them away one by one, knowing them like a researcher knows his subject. He wants an education in Charles Xavier, wants to know everything bad and good about the man and still want to know more, still want him anyway.

Charles is staring into the distance, eyes glassy, and Erik clears his throat, closing one eye when Charles suddenly has sprung a twin.

"Perhaps you'll let me stay the night?"

Charles nods, not moving a muscle.

When Erik's finally on the bed a little while later, he's out in minutes, only coming to and barely. For a moment, he thinks that he wants to reach out, but his arms feel waterlogged. And he's gone again.

In the morning, sunlight filters in from the floor to ceiling window, casting the room in a half, dreamlike light. Half the room is bright, and the other is graying. The morning is quiet, save for the birds outside and the soft breaths coming from Charles. Erik stares at him from the darkest corner of the room, slouched in a wicker chair there. Charles doesn't notice him this morning, and he feels a sharp pang within himself.

Erik doesn't know how long he stares at Charles, but, when he blinks and opens his eyes again, Charles is driving forward into the night. He stops minutes later, grabbing a bouquet of flowers from the back before he slams the door shut, his headlights cast on a headstone. Erik stands beside Charles, staring down at the stone with him and feeling morose.

He blinks, and they're standing on the edge of the world. Charles is staring down, down, down, eyes hollow.

"I'll always love you," Charles promises. "There will never _be_ anyone else, Erik. That's why."

Erik blinks again, and he and Charles are sitting in a field. Charles is picking at grass, pulling it apart with long fingers. His hair is floppy again, and Erik runs his fingers through the soft tresses. Charles smiles, the sallow aesthetic seeming to have been washed from his features.

"You look like you've slept well," Erik murmurs, bringing the hand in the man's hair down to rest on the back of Charles' neck.

Charles smiles, side-eyeing him.

"It's good to _see_ you, old friend."

**Author's Note:**

> How Erik feels physically alludes to the way he died, but it wasn't important to the story. I really wanted Erik to be an hallucination to Charles, but he ended up being more of a ghost, really. Or maybe his thoughts and their dialogue more speak of Charles' telepathy and their bond and how well Charles knew Erik and knew that Erik wanted to know him. Hm. -D


End file.
